.Being.Us

Since I moved to the city and lost my in-person ties to the culture that was a part of my childhood, I've been grappling with my identity and place in the world and my community as a person who is both Native (Cherokee and Apache) and White. Native American Heritage Day seemed like an appropriate time to open up about that struggle. Here's a poem I've been sitting on that I'm still not 100% sure I want to be sharing, honestly, but here goes.   I am Native, I am White As much as I am Native I am also White And I cannot deny That White blood Flows in my veins As much as Cherokee As much as Apache. As much as I was raised with Blackfeet traditions, I was raised with White Man’s ones. Only how can I reconcile That one part of me Has done so much harm To the other: Broken treaties Broken Bodies Broken Lives Children Ripped from parents Sent to boarding schools Where cultures and languages I love were stamped out. Trail of Tears.   ...

TW: Fat (reclaimed), eating disorder recovery mention, obesity mention, body image issues mention  I've been posting a lot of poetry lately because that's the content my brain has been able to produce, but I'm going to try to get some regular content to you soon. In the meantime, there is far to little fat positivity on this blog, as I grapple with my own eating disorder recovery, obesity, and body image issues. In that vein, I bring you my new fat positivity poem, "I Jiggle When I Dance". I Jiggle When I Dance When I dance My stomach wiggles side to side Even after I stop moving   The movement of my breasts Is really obvious And I’m learning Not to try to hide it   My feet on the floor Would make creaks and thumps Except   If I move my lower half My joints scream in pain And I have to stop dancing   So I dance with the top of me Jiggles and all And I’m learning to be free   To love myself more freely To live ...

I write a lot about what is lost and gained in my being and my life by taking anti-psychotic, anti-depressant, and anti-anxiety medications, and this poem is no different. The biggest, life-changing things I've grasped hold of with the help of these medications are the ability to have stable, healthy relationships and the ability to survive, and I don't think I'd trade either of those things for the world (see my poem, Ten Hurricanes ). Without further ado, "Once, There Were Trees." Once, There Were Trees. *mic sounds* *deep voice in audience clears throat*  Is it really worth trading my creativity For the ability to leave the house? My passion For the ability to hold a “normal” conversation? My intellect and the way my brain makes connections that no one else can see For a lack of suicidality? What if I could fall into the nebulous violence of a forming star? What if I could see the spark that rebirths wood frogs every Spring? What if I could be myself again, eve...

TW: Psychiatric Medication I wrote this rough draft of a poem a few years ago for spoken word and never came back to edit it, but I really like it. To me, it represents finding the balance in my psychiatric medication and sort of losing myself by being over-medicated but losing my ability to maintain my relationships with people who matter to me by being under-medicated.     This is the time of day When the oceans roar The messy crash of salty waves is pain But the tearful surge is the herald of my reward   They're coming back My thoughts are riding on the clouds Where I used to live My wonderings crashing in the pattern of my name   Here comes the Storm   Boatless, I'm dead man's floating out to sea Will I go into that hurricane? Will I float until the waves lift me to the clouds, Not into the eye of the storm, but in the swirling winds?   The swirling of that storm is where I once discovered lightn...